


all the stars align

by hari (okanus)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minecraft, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:08:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29757318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okanus/pseuds/hari
Summary: “Dream,” he murmurs. “We’re in the stars.”George feels, rather than hears, the huff of warm air Dream lets out against his hair.“I like the way you see things, George,” he whispers back.George's cheeks burn with warmth, and he turns his head away from Dream, looking out toward the furthest part of the sky.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 180





	all the stars align

**Author's Note:**

> hello! a few things worth mentioning before you get into it:
> 
> \- this fic was originally inspired by dream and george's [stargazing date in among us](https://youtu.be/DS7Lk7AWV5Y?t=5096) and then it just sorta spiralled from there lol  
> \- it's set in the minecraft universe, but not the dream smp. i took some creative liberties for the sake of the fic so please don't crucify me in the comments section if there are any inaccuracies <3  
> \- the scene in the lagoon is somewhat inspired by that one moment in skam s3 so if you recognise it let me know!!  
> – tw for a small blood mention! if you wanna skip it, stop reading at “Are you ready, George?” and continue on at "Dream had stayed on his knees, looking so young, so earnest."  
> \- title comes from 'once in a lifetime' by one direction; i'd definitely recommend listening to it as you read as the lyrics fit perfectly :)
> 
> okay, well that's it from me. i hope you enjoy reading!! also, this fic is dedicated to one of my favourite people in the world, the universally beloved [may](https://notfoundgeorge.tumblr.com). i have no idea where i'd be without your constant support - i love you <33

_ (It goes like this. Two boys, best friends. Nothing more, nothing less.) _

* * *

George shakes his head the second Dream barges into his house, eyes flashing mischievously.

“No,” he says flatly. It falls on deaf ears, as is wont to do when it comes to conversations with Dream.

Dream bites his lip, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Yes,” he insists, and George groans. Dream’s mask is slung at a rakish angle against his hair; George knocks on it sharply. 

“Yes, what?” 

It’s a rhetorical question, and they both know it – for all George’s protestations, he’s already on board with whatever harebrained plan Dream has concocted. That’s just how their friendship works: when Dream pushes, George leans into it, taking Dream on his word. When Dream pulls away, George follows, a silent promise that he’ll always have Dream’s back.

So when Dream all but drags George out the door, talking a mile a minute about how he’d planned a surprise and it was  _ “Amazing, George, you’re going to love it, I swear,” _ George (reluctantly) lets himself be taken. He hurriedly slings his inventory pack over his shoulder – it’s light, containing only the barest essentials: a quiver of arrows, some bread, a flask of ice-cold water from the river. His bow is strapped across his back, unobtrusive but there if necessary at arm’s reach. George might be over-cautious, but he’s learnt from experience that it’s miles better to be too paranoid than be unprepared.

“Let’s go, George, come  _ on _ ,” Dream urges him, voice thrumming with anticipation. It’s a quiet, sleepy morning as they walk to the outskirts of the village, but Dream’s energy is contagious; George can feel himself getting excited, even if he doesn’t know what for.

Dream takes his hand, pulling him eagerly towards the communal stables. 

“We’re riding?” George asks, curious. How far was Dream planning to take them?

Dream scoffs. “Obviously,” he says, but there’s no heat to the jab.

They mount their horses. Dream takes Apollo, as always – the chestnut stallion is his favourite, despite his reputation to the rest of the village as a temperamental beast. George swings himself on to Apollo’s sister, Artemis. The grey mare’s nostrils flicker as she stamps her hooves restlessly, and George strokes a placating hand down her neck. 

“D’you know where we’re heading, girl?” he whispers into her mane. She snorts haughtily in response. George takes that as a no.

When they’re settled, Dream guides Apollo to the side of the village that faces east, then turns to face George with a grin. George stares at him, transfixed for a moment by the way the rising sun illuminates Dream in a glow of bright yellow-gold. Dream paints a striking silhouette, and George, bizarrely, thinks of war heroes in history books, surging into righteous battle.

“You ready?” Dream says. “All you have to do is follow me.”

“Don’t leave me behind,” George replies. The words settle, stick awkwardly in the space behind his ribs. Dream lets slip a half-chuckle.

“You know I never could.” Never _ would, _ goes unsaid, but George hears it anyway. “C’mon, ‘pollo,” Dream kicks his heel, and in a flurry of dust he’s off, speeding across the fields. George whistles lowly, spurring on Artemis, and it’s no time before they’ve caught up to her brother and his rider. 

The two of them gallop side by side, matching each other pace for pace without hesitation till the sun is a high circle of white in the pale blue sky.

“We’ll break here,” Dream announces suddenly, hopping off Apollo with the practised ease of a man who’s done it a million times before. George’s heart stutters at the bright smile Dream flashes his way as he dismounts.

He pulls his flask clumsily out of his bag and chugs some water, grateful for the cool relief it provides. The sun is relentless above them, beating George into sticky submission, and he wipes the sweat off his brow with the hem of his shirt. Dream glances at him through half-lidded eyes.

“It’s so hot,” George complains, just to have something to say. “Please tell me we’re almost there.” 

Dream pulls out his map and compass, biting his lip as he scrutinises both. “Honestly, we’re making pretty good time. If we continue like this, we’ll be there before sunset.” 

George flops back against the trunk of a large spruce tree. “This surprise better be worth it, Dream,” he mutters, staring up at the soft light filtering through the overlapping leaves.

“I swear to you, it is,” Dream assures him. “Are you hungry? This is a nice place for lunch.”

It is nice, actually. Despite the sweltering heat, they’ve found themselves a soft patch of grass, dotted here and there with tiny daisies. George reaches into his pack and thunks his head lightly against the bark when he realises all he’s brought is half a loaf of bread.

“Dream,” he starts sheepishly, and Dream’s already laughing, already pulling out hunks of cheese, and apples, and chicken drumsticks wrapped in parchment paper, and he’s so absurdly overprepared that George just shakes his head in sheer disbelief.

“I can’t believe you,” Dream says fondly. “Half a loaf of bread, really?”

“You didn’t give me any time to pack, genius,” George says sardonically, snatching up an apple. It’s perfectly crisp as he bites into it, the tartness exploding across his tongue sweetly. 

“You’re such an idiot.”

“Mmph,” George says as eloquently as one can with a mouth full of fruit.

They eat contentedly, taking their time cutting the cheese into bite-sized cubes and trying to toss them into each other’s mouths.

“George, you’re absolutely  _ terrible _ at this,” Dream teases when George misses Dream’s throw for the third time in a row, teeth closing on nothing but empty air. George deliberately chucks his next piece at Dream’s forehead, and the two of them double over in laughter when it gets stubbornly stuck to the rim of his mask.

The horses are grazing next to them, and George honestly doesn’t even care about the surprise anymore. He’s happy to sit in this field forever, making meaningless conversation, thinking about nothing at all but the next way he’s going to make Dream smile.

“Okay, okay, we gotta get a move on,” Dream says finally, piling the apple cores and chicken bones in a small heap behind a rock.

“Can you at least give me a hint about where we’re going?” George asks, only slightly plaintively, as he gets to his feet. 

“No,” Dream replies lightly. “That ruins the whole  _ surprise _ part of the surprise, George.”

“Fine. But if I hate it, that’s on you.”

“You’re not going to hate it,” Dream says sharply.

“How do you know that?” he argues back, more for the sake of arguing than anything else. George secretly admits to himself that it’s also partly due to the way Dream’s eyes darken when he’s frustrated, how the muscle in his jaw clenches tightly.

“Because I  _ know  _ you, George,” Dream insists, and George wants to say,  _ “Is that so?” _ Does Dream really know him – know the way George wakes up with his name on his lips and a terrifyingly deep ache in his chest? Does Dream know how George can’t sleep at night when Dream goes out hunting, how George waits fretfully for the lanterns outside Dream’s house to switch off so he can feel okay knowing that Dream’s safe, that he’s lived another night?

George turns away, climbing onto Artemis. Dream is his best friend. Dream is the subject of his every stray thought. It’s a fragile, unstable place to be; a Venn diagram of two circles that should really stay separate.

In George’s heart, they overlap entirely. He can’t tell where one starts and the other begins. Dream is all-encompassing; part of him lives in George’s soul and George sometimes thinks he won’t ever leave. He's made a home for himself, there.

They continue riding, past rivers and forests and empty fields that stretch as far as the eye can see. George has never been this far from the village before – not even when he, Sapnap and Dream had gone on wildly risky adventures when they were younger, with nothing but the swords strapped to their hips and all the arrogant teenage confidence in the world.

An hour or so later, when the muscles in George’s legs are starting to tingle with a satisfying ache, Dream tugs on Apollo’s reins, bringing him to a stop.

“We’re here,” he announces proudly, but George would have known this was the place even if he’d said nothing; the joy in Dream’s eyes is so easily recognisable, shining like the time he took down a skeleton with one chop of an axe, like the time George shot his first bullseye and screamed Dream’s name in gleeful shock.

They’re at the edge of a small forest, trees packed so tightly together that George wonders how the horses will get through. Dream is one step ahead, as always, pulling out a rope to tie Apollo and Artemis to a sturdy oak.

“Come on,” he beckons when he’s done. George has never been one to say no to Dream.

They walk through the forest quietly, George following Dream so closely it’s like he’s his shadow. To be fair, that’s not such a bad role to have, George thinks. As far back as he can recall, he’s been the one behind Dream — the cautious voice reining him back, the words of encouragement keeping him going. Sometimes, George doesn’t know where he’d be if he didn’t have Dream to follow. 

That’s not something necessarily bad, either. It’s just – so much of his identity is wrapped up in Dream. They were kids, once, George remembers, playing with wooden swords, Dream letting him win their duels half the time just so George wouldn’t storm off in frustration. It seems so long ago, the years of their youth – and George’s brain provides him with quick snapshots, memories of late-night sleepovers and quarrels and girlfriends and promises that they would have each other's backs, always.

It had been Dream’s idea. Of course it had been. They were fourteen, not young enough to be children, not old enough to be wise, and the two of them had snuck out to the beach at dawn in an act of juvenile rebellion. 

“We should have a pact,” Dream had said out of nowhere, after they’d tired themselves out splashing around in the water, taking turns dunking one another until the salt had made George’s eyes sting. He’d paused from where he’d been mindlessly doodling swirls and spirals into the wet sand, and looked at Dream curiously. In the glow of the rising sun, Dream’s hair had been impossibly gold, the freckles that dotted his cheeks just barely visible.

“A pact for what?” George had asked casually. 

“You know,” Dream had replied, staring out at the endless horizon. “A pact that we never leave each other’s sides. Something like that, I guess.”

Fourteen-year-old George had almost laughed, thinking Dream was joking. They were best friends – who would George possibly leave him for? Who  _ could _ George possibly leave him for? But Dream hadn’t elaborated, the curve of his childish jaw set in an obstinate line.

“Okay,” George had whispered. Then, stronger, “Okay. Let’s make a pact.”

They’d faced each other on bony knees, the sand uncomfortably itchy against their legs, and Dream had drawn the small dagger he’d kept on him since getting cornered by a spider weeks ago. George had been the one to save him, that time, hacking at the beast wildly with his sword whilst Dream had clambered desperately up a tree. Only when George had finally slain the creature, arms aching and legs wobbly from the exertion, had Dream finally come down. They’d both pretended that they didn’t notice the way each of their faces were stained with tears.

“Are you ready, George?” Dream had murmured, the tip of the dagger pressing lightly into the flesh of George’s palm. “It’ll only hurt a bit, I think.”

“Just do it,” George had gritted out, and all at once there had been a sharp, blinding pain in his hand, dark red blood immediately beginning to trickle from his flesh. Dream had inhaled sharply and sliced his own palm without a second’s hesitation. The two of them had been shaking, shivering, as they pressed their hands together, gripping each other’s fingers so tightly the pressure of skin on skin had sent razor-sharp waves of electricity through George.

“I, um,  _ fuck _ , George, you’re better with words than I am,” Dream had stammered.

George had wracked his brain in anguish, thinking back to all the books in which he’d read scenes like the one he and Dream were in the midst of acting out. He’d felt lightheaded, transfixed by the blood dripping down the pale knob of his wrist. Whether it was Dream’s blood, or his, he wasn’t sure, and it had sent a funny feeling whirring through his chest.

“George!” Dream had hissed. “Come on.”

George had nodded frantically. “I, George,” he’d begun, searching for the right words. “I, George, swear an oath. An oath made of flesh and blood. An oath to protect my best friend, Dream, from any danger that may befall him. I will do my best to prevent him from being harmed with everything that I have, and everything that I am, until my dying day.” He’d cringed inwardly, thinking that the words sounded lame, especially coming from his not-yet-broken voice, but Dream had nodded tightly, eyes so dark they were molten amber. 

“I, Dream,” he’d spoken into the centimetres of space between them. He’d repeated George’s words, laced with solemn conviction, from beginning to end.

Afterwards, they’d taken an unsteady moment, something hovering in the air after the weight of the promises they’d made. George had been the one to unlock their hands, standing up and clenching his fist awkwardly in an attempt to staunch the blood flow. Dream had stayed on his knees, looking so young, so earnest. __

_ Lancelot, _ George’s brain had whispered, reminding him of the book he’d finished last week.  _ The greatest knight of the Round Table. _

But if Dream was Lancelot, who did that make George?

“Fuck,” Dream curses in the present, a jarring reminder of where George is now, six years later. He shakes himself out of the past, blinking at the scenery around them. They’re much deeper into the forest, and the sunlight just barely makes a dent through the canopy of trees, dappling the leaf-covered floor in small circles of light.

“What is it?” he asks.

“I took a wrong turn,” Dream mutters. “I’m so stupid.” 

“No, you’re not,” George says dismissively. “Look, just tell me what we’re trying to find. It won’t ruin the surprise, right?”

Dream screws up his nose, clearly torn between stumbling around this forest forever and upsetting his carefully-laid plans. “Fine,” he agrees reluctantly. “Just listen out for the sound of water, alright? That’s all I’m telling you.”

George rolls his eyes at him. “You’re so dramatic, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Only you, every single day,” Dream shoots back, punching him lightly on the arm. George kicks his shin in retaliation, then tilts his head, listening to their surroundings. 

His sense of hearing had always been unusually good – it was George who caught the snap of a twig whenever they were out hunting, George who could recognise the footsteps of which specific villager was approaching them before he even saw their face.

Dream veers left decisively. “I’m like...ninety percent sure it’s this way, at least,” he says.

Georgen nods, still keeping an ear out. A few metres later, he stops, grabbing Dream’s hand instinctively. “Shh,” he orders, and cranes his neck. Sure enough, he can just make out the faint gurgling of running water coming from the way they were heading. “You were right,” he smiles, and to his surprise, Dream isn’t meeting his gaze.

“You okay?” he asks, concerned.

Dream looks up, startled. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry, it‘s just hot, y’know.” Dream’s exposed neck is flushed, and George fixates on the colour, mesmerised by the light pink creeping up towards his jaw. If George took a step forward, his face would fit perfectly in that very crook, he thinks absurdly. Dream’s gaze drops to his, his brow furrowed almost like he’s thinking the very same thing. 

Then Dream pulls his hand away, stepping past George towards the source of the sound. George immediately, pathetically, misses the contact. “Well, enough dawdling around. Let’s go,” Dream says brightly, and it’s like he’s entirely shuttered off the vulnerability from a moment ago. George feels distantly unsettled, as if he’s missed something – as if the world has moved a second forward while George stayed in place, unable to move.

“Let’s  _ go _ ,” Dream repeats, anticipation tangible in his tone, and George shrugs, brushing away his unsteadiness.

“Catch me if you can,” he grins, and takes off at a sprint. Dream lets out a surprised yell of protest behind him as George runs, feet thudding against the dirt, his pack swinging wildly by his side. Dream will catch up to him easily, that much he knows for sure, but it’s more fun for George to pretend that he’s ahead by a mile, that Dream’s footsteps behind him are nothing but a hallucination.

“George, you’re so stupid, _slow_ _down,_ ” he hears Dream utter out between wheezes, and that only spurs him on faster, leaping over gnarled roots and mushroom patches, weaving between tree trunks till suddenly he bursts out of the forest and into, into –

“What the fuck,” George says, stopping abruptly. Dream draws himself to a similarly short halt next to him, and they stand there, breathing heavily. George whips his head left and right, staring at the clearing they’ve arrived at. It takes him a few seconds to process what he’s looking at.

Lush, overgrown plants lead to rocky boulders, which flatten out and break off into a gentle stony overhang jutting over cerulean water. George looks up, and sees a small waterfall crashing down into the circular pool, the depths of which he can’t quite make out. There’s just so much _blue_ , and George knows Dream couldn’t have possibly engineered it to be this way, but something soft tugs at his heartstrings regardless. It’s a perfect oasis, tucked away where nobody could find it but Dream, ever the curious explorer. And he brought George to see it.

He turns to Dream, an awestruck smile spreading across his face. “Okay, this is kind of insane. How - when - how did you -”

Dream cuts him off with a finger held to George’s lips. George exhales against the featherlight pressure, sees the way Dream’s eyes narrow slightly, drifting downwards. 

“This isn’t even the best part,” Dream says, so smug George can’t help but shove at his shoulder slightly.

“Not the best part?” He’s incredulous — Dream has brought him to what might just be the most beautiful place George has ever seen, and he’s telling him there’s something more to look forward to? Affection blooms openly in his chest; a flower unfurling its petals to stretch towards the sun. 

Dream nods, lips curved up in a crooked smile. “The best part comes later. We gotta wait for it. For now, though — swimming?”

He holds out a hand, and George can’t drag his eyes away from the white starburst scar that mars the centre of Dream’s palm, the permanent reminder of the unending promise they’d made to each other all those years ago. George doesn’t need to check his own hand — he’s traced that jagged outline so many times he could picture it in his sleep, the blemish almost smoothed out by George’s constant touches. On the nights Dream stays out late, so late, George stares at the scar like it’s a crystal ball, desperately hoping it’ll somehow show him Dream safe and sound.

“George,” Dream snaps his fingers impatiently.

“Oh, right, yeah. Swimming,” George says. He takes Dream’s still outstretched hand, as easy as anything, as if this is something normal. “Lead the way.” 

They tread their way carefully to the edge of the rocky outcropping, and Dream makes an offhand comment about how  _ of course George needs to lean on him _ ,  _ he’s so needy _ , and George counters with how  _ Dream was the one who made them hold hands, actually, _ and they continue to bicker fondly till Dream says,

“Screw this, I’m going in,” strips to his boxers, and dives into the pool in one smooth movement. George gapes soundly after him as Dream emerges from the water, shaking his head like a wet dog. 

“You coming?” he hollers, hair framing his face in loose tendrils. George rolls his eyes, and toes his way only slightly self-consciously out of his clothes, leaving them in a neat, folded pile next to Dream’s mess.

“Do a flip,” Dream yells encouragingly, his hands cupped around his mouth. George shakes his head. 

“Not happening,” he calls. He braces himself, then runs and leaps into the water with a colossal splash _. _ “Fuck! Dream, it’s  _ cold _ ,” he gasps. Cold is an understatement — the water is freezing, making George’s skin prickle with goosebumps.

Dream paddles towards him, a devious grin playing across his face. “Cold, you say?” he practically purrs, and George knows his best friend far too well than to trust he has good intentions. He makes a break for the farthest edge of the pool, but Dream is much too fast: a hand shoots out and snags on George’s ankle, keeping him firmly hostage. 

“Let go of me!” George turns around, wriggling out of Dream’s grasp. He swims furiously to the perimeter of the pool, but there’s only so much space for him to go; Dream is with him a second later.

George shoves down on Dream’s shoulders, pushing him beneath the surface, and for a moment he thinks he might be victorious. Then, two hands circle his waist and George barely has time to think, oh,  _ shit _ , before Dream yanks him under with him.

George blinks rapidly, trying to focus on Dream’s figure in front of him. They’re only floating about a foot’s depth under the surface, but in the vastness of blue, George feels like they’re in their own little bubble. Dream is a hazy shape that hovers just out of reach. His hands drift mindlessly, still close to George from where he’d used them to pull him down, and George’s hips burn from the contact, so hot that he’s almost surprised the water isn’t steaming against his skin. 

Then, Dream swims nearer, closing the arm’s length of distance between them so they’re not quite nose to nose, but a good eighty percent of the way there. George can hear his heartbeat drumming a rapid rhythm in his head. His body isn’t just trembling from the cold anymore. In the blurs of aquamarine, Dream is a stark pillar of gold, so tantalisingly close that George almost becomes a dragon of storybook old, greedy and wanting. But the pressure that’s been building in his chest grows unbearable, and he flees instead, kicking off from the ground to break the surface. 

Dream follows moments after, and their ragged breathing punctures the silence as they clutch the rocky ledge for support. 

George’s throat is waterlogged. He dares himself to look at Dream. There’s a droplet, rolling along the smooth juncture of Dream’s collarbone. George looks at it. Looks at it. Looks at it looks at it looks at it —

“The cabin.” 

“What?”

Dream clears his throat. “There’s a cabin nearby, and we can stay the night there. It’s clean, and it has food, and a fireplace, and a bed –”

“The cabin. Right,” George says slowly.  _ A _ bed _ , _ he mulls over. Not two.

Dream nods, a sharp jerk of his head. “Okay. Just, uh, follow me.”

George has nothing to add, so he hauls himself up out of the pool, scraping his palms lightly against the misshapen rock. Frowning, he considers his clothing situation. Wearing his pants over damp underwear isn’t appealing in the slightest, but his only other option was…

George begrudgingly yanks on his trousers, then puts his shirt on. He turns back to Dream, who’s midway through hoisting himself out of the water, looking like every pipe dream George has ever had.

“I didn’t actually think about where we’d be sleeping,” George says, rather stiltedly. Dream vigorously shakes the water out of his hair, sending droplets flying. 

“I forgot to mention it before. That’s my bad.”

“No, it’s fine. How did you find this place, anyway?” George asks, desperately willing the conversation to pick up more naturally.

Dream slings his axe across his back, then shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t even know. I think I came across it for the first time while I was out exploring, maybe two weeks ago? That night, I stayed in the cabin, but it was totally empty. Once I knew I wanted to come back, I brought supplies and stocked it up.”

“Huh,” George says distractedly. How much had Dream been planning this out? This wasn’t the spur-of-the-moment plan George had thought it was this morning. 

It seems like years ago, now, when Dream had grabbed his hand, yanked him onto a horse, told George to follow him. George raises a finger absent-mindedly to his mouth, presses into the plush of his lower lip, thinks nonsensically about what could have happened if he had just leaned forward that slightest bit in the pool

Ahead of him, Dream picks up his pace, weaving through the trees with confidence. The diamond of his axe glows in the orange smudges of the sun; George finds himself fixating on the way it glitters.

“It should be just around here,” Dream says. His tone is oddly subdued. George thinks about what-ifs and maybes and missed chances.

A few moments later, they reach the cabin. It’s nicer looking than George anticipated, all dark wood and sturdy beams. It’s small, but George supposes that’s expected when it was originally a cabin for one. Dream pulls a key out of his pocket and slots it neatly into the lock on the front door. He twists it, and the door creaks open, into a fairly cosy-looking room. There’s an empty fireplace, and an armchair, and what seems to be a stove tucked neatly toward the side. Through a door at the furthest wall, George can just barely make out a glimpse into what must be the bedroom. The lanterns that hang from the walls are unlit, but Dream moves efficiently, pulling out a matchbox and dousing the two of them in a warm wash of gold as he lights each one.

Once he’s done, Dream looks at George, fidgeting with his hands in a way that’s endearingly self-conscious. In the dim light, Dream’s eyes are pools of bronze, and George could swear the tips of his ears are flushing.

“Do you… Do you like it?” Dream asks, his voice earnest, sweet.

George lets out a quiet laugh. “Dream, how could I not _? _ It’s perfect.” He points to the bedroom. “Should we put our stuff in there?”

Dream glances back. “Yeah, but there’s just one thing you gotta do before I can show you the surprise.” 

George cocks his head. “Yes?”

Dream gestures towards the vacant fireplace, a hollow frame of stone. “Do you mind chopping some firewood? I’ll let you take my axe,” he says, and George feels his heart slip. Chores. Brilliant.

“Sure,” he says, holding back a heavy exhale.

“Awesome.”

Dream turns his back to George, offering him his axe. George slides it carefully out of the holster, unused to the diamond weapon’s hefty weight as it rests in his hands.

“Listen,” Dream murmurs, facing George once more. They’re close, too close, and George’s breath hitches in his throat. Dream is staring at him, expression indecipherable, lips pressed into a flat line.

“Don’t get yourself killed out there," he says seriously. 

George rolls his eyes. “Fuck off.”

Dream laughs. “Kidding, kidding. Okay, go! Be back soon, though.”

“Yes, Dream,” George sighs in faux-exasperation.

As he walks out of the cabin, he can feel Dream’s gaze on the back of his neck.

He scrubs a hand tiredly across his face as he makes his way into the forest. 

It was inevitable, George thinks, that he would have to come to terms with the fact that his and Dream’s friendship couldn’t stay in that odd, precarious space of platonic-but-maybe-something-more forever, but now that things are shifting, George is at a loss about what comes next. 

He swings Dream’s axe rather gloomily at his side. Is it worth it, he wonders, to take the risk? To bet on the chance that this, whatever  _ this _ is, wouldn’t tear them apart? The thing was – losing Dream was simply not an option. George would rather cut out his own heart, and it would probably hurt less, too.

George splits a tree trunk in two, diamond carving through wood like butter. Emotions are stupid, he decides. It’s much easier to just forgo them entirely; to go about his daily business without ever acknowledging the complex myriad of feelings that wells up in him when he looks at his best friend. He thinks of Dream’s smile, that special, radiant one he reserves solely for when it’s just him and George with their backs against the world, and slams the axe down again.

He doesn’t stop till he’s built up a generous pile of twigs, branches, and logs. George gathers them up, breathing heavily, and starts heading back towards the clearing. Whatever weird ‘moment’ he and Dream had just shared, George was just going to act normal. There was no need to complicate things; no need to gamble on a perfectly safe friendship.

George trudges back, wood gathered in his arms. “I’m back,” he announces loudly, unceremoniously dumping the gains of his hard work at his feet. 

Dream is standing at the cabin window, staring up at the darkening sky. He turns to George.

“Thank you.”

George shrugs, like it’s nothing. “At least we won’t freeze to death.”

They pile up the fireplace with the wood, and Dream pulls out his matchbox again, sparking a roaring blaze.

George gazes into the dancing flames. He looks at Dream, sees the fire reflected in his eyes.

He debates the merits of whining or not. “Can I please know about the surprise now?” George pleads, deciding on the former.

Dream smiles. “Yeah, you can.”

He tilts his head, gesturing for George to follow him back outside. Night has fallen, but the moon is bright, framing the forest in a silvery glow.

“This way,” Dream says, going around to the back of the cabin. There’s a large expanse of grass, void of trees. Dream takes George’s hand, pulls him gently to the ground. The grass tickles the skin of his bare ankles.

“Is the surprise...this?” He looks around curiously. Knowing Dream, something outrageous could emerge from the forest at any moment and he wouldn’t even be surprised.

Dream knocks their shoulders together lightly, then leans back, crossing his elbows behind his head. 

“Look up,” he murmurs softly.

George mimics his position, and they’re close enough that their entire sides are pressed up against each other. He stares up at the vast expanse of midnight, inhales sharply at the sight.

The sky is filled entirely with glimmering stars, diamonds studded against navy velvet. The constellations kiss each other, tracing delicate patterns that arch and intertwine.

“Dream,” he murmurs. “We’re in the stars.” 

George feels, rather than hears, the huff of warm air Dream lets out against his hair.

“I like the way you see things, George,” he whispers back. 

George’s cheeks burn with warmth, and he turns his head away from Dream, looking out toward the furthest part of the sky.

“That’s Ursa Minor,” he points out, instead of saying something he might regret. He feels Dream shift, angling his body towards George.

“I can’t see it,” Dream mutters. George grabs his arm and directs him to the constellation.

“See? That’s the Little Dipper, that cluster over there.” 

Dream hums noncommittally in response.

“Dream,” George says, a giggle falling from his lips. “You have to be able to see where I’m pointing.”

Dream chuckles. “You’re the star nerd here, not me. That’s why I brought you here.”

George lets the implications of that statement sink in. “It’s a really nice surprise. But I’m not a nerd, you’re just an idiot.”

“Shut up.”

George pokes at Dream’s side, and he wriggles away. George thinks the four centimetres of space between them feel like a chasm.

“Come on, show me some more,” Dream insists.

So George does. He points out Polaris  _ (“The North Star, that’s what I use to track us when we’re out at night.” “What about the South Star?” “Shut up.”).  _ He shows Dream the pattern of Orion’s Belt  _ (“This one’s one of my favourites. The three brightest stars are called Mintaka, Alnilam and Alnitak.”)  _

“You really know your constellations, huh,” Dream says quietly. 

“I mean, yeah,” George says, suddenly self-conscious. They’ve gotten closer, Dream practically curved around George’s back.

“No, I like it,” Dream insists. “Seriously, it’s really cool. I told you – that’s why I brought you here. I wanted you to show them to me.”

George closes his eyes. The ebb and flow of his relationship with Dream can be infuriating, sometimes. 

“George,” Dream says suddenly, breaking the silence. “Look, there’s a shooting star.”

George follows Dream’s gaze, and sees that he’s right. The star hurtles recklessly through the night sky, a dazzling blur of light.

He’s always loved shooting stars. There was something about that kind of shockingly temporary beauty; the way they exist for mere seconds and then disappear, as if they had never existed in the first place.

He’s wished on them, constantly. As a kid, he’d wanted the coolest sword, or a pet wolf, or a lifetime supply of cake. Then the years had gone on, and his thoughts had revolved more and more around a certain head of dirty blonde hair and a dastardly crooked smile. 

George’s wishes had narrowed to just one. It rarely ever changed. 

“Make a wish, Dream,” he says distractedly, swallowing the lump in his throat.

He doesn’t expect Dream to prop himself up on his elbows and lean over him, eyes blazing. 

“I’m sick of wishing,” he says roughly, and then his lips are on George’s, a hasty, messy collision that startles George into pushing him away instinctively.

Dream’s eyes widen, and he falls back onto his heels. George stays, shellshocked, hands grasping at tufts of grass in a futile attempt to ground himself. There’s a long moment where nobody speaks.

“Dream,” George finally utters, painstakingly raw. He’s aching with the urge to lean forward. “Are you sure?”

Dream nods mutely, practically vibrating with agitation. “Are  _ you _ sure, George?” he asks.

“Yeah,” George gets out. “I’m sure.” He gets to his knees, shuffles to face Dream.

Dream sinks his teeth into his lower lip, gaze burning. George wonders if he’s feeling the same sort of terrifying exhilaration that George is. Slowly, almost as if he were approaching a wild animal, he cups Dream’s cheeks in his hands and pulls him into a kiss. 

It’s deep, desperate. Dream tastes like jumping headfirst into a pool, like galloping through fields with wind-ruffled hair, like something untameable. 

“Dream.” George murmurs when they break apart. Dream lingers, presses a soft kiss to his nose.

“George,” he says quietly in return.

“Dream,” George says again. “What does this mean?”

“What do you want it to mean?” Dream splays his hands, a ragged edge to his voice. 

George swallows shakily. 

“I’ve wanted this for a while,” he admits, fidgeting with his fingers.

Dream traces a finger down the line of George’s jaw. “So have I,” he says, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

George stares at constellations spilling across Dream’s eyes, feels his heart shift and settle firmly into place. 

“Well,” he says, under the watchful gaze of the stars, under the light of the hanging moon. “I’m glad we’re on the same page, then.”

* * *

_ (It goes like this. Two boys, best friends. Something more, nothing less.) _

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! come talk to me on tumblr @ [netheritedream](https://netheritedream.tumblr.com)
> 
> if you enjoyed, kudos and comments make my day and i treasure them so so much <3 feel free to check out my other fics too!
> 
> love, hari <3


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